


His Own Hand

by AvinRyd



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, F/M, Fake Marriage, Gen, Magical London meets high school drama club, This is what happens when I get a silly prompt and my plot-obsessed brain can't cope, reincarnation au? i don't even know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-24 11:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvinRyd/pseuds/AvinRyd
Summary: ""The laws of marriage in this community are very simple," [...] "The requirements are as follows: the presence of a judge, a statement of 'I do' by both the bride and the groom, and the signing of an explanatory document in the bride's own hand.""-Lemony Snicket's "A Bad Beginning"--A crack!fic fill for the Bartimaeus Fic Exchange of 2019! Please don't ask me how I got here. I don't have the slightest clue.
Relationships: Bartimaeus & Nathaniel (Bartimaeus), Jane Farrar/Nathaniel, OFC & Nathaniel, OFC/Nathaniel
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12
Collections: Bartimaeus Fic Exchange 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neathra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neathra/gifts).

> Welcome, one and all, to the silliest piece of fic I've ever written to date!
> 
> This is a fill for my prompt in the Bartimaeus Fic Exchange of 2019, organized by the lovely tarragonthedragon. Please check out the rest of the fics because it's sure to be a trip.
> 
> My prompt:
> 
> Nathaniel gets married! Bartimaeus takes this as an opportunity to irritate his boss by constantly assuming her form.
> 
> Meanwhile, Jane Farrar keeps trying to inconspicuous "bump off" the new Mrs. Mandrake, but keeps failing. These to plots intersect exactly how you'd think.
> 
> (Bonus points if A: Farrar tries -and fails- to non lethally disrupt the marriage and B: Bartimaeus had a hand in Nathaniel proposing)
> 
> \--
> 
> I normally take this fandom so seriously, so we'll see if I managed to pull off this intense silliness. Be ye warned, the following story contains Shakespeare levels of shenanigans, my attempts to format our beloved footnotes, and influences from other childhood books. Enjoy!

**Memo  
Carrier - Imp #358  
Sender - Oliver Kern, Clerk, Ministry of Employment  
Recipient - Mr. Quentin Makepeace**

_On behalf of Ms. Denna Janesmith, Minister of Employment, I would like to thank you for bringing Child #1125 to our attention. He has tested excellent in every subject and will be an asset to the program. _

_Regarding your request, I am sorry to say that he cannot be considered in your apprenticeship application, as it violates Fraternization Ordinance 1.3. These ordinances can be found on page 5 of your application packet. Your application is still under review; someone will reach out to you in no fewer than 10 business days. _

_Warm Regards,  
Oliver Kern _

* * *

**Nathaniel**

Council finally adjourned, Nathaniel was only just able to keep himself from slouching as he exited the hall. Only his third month as the new Information Minister and he was starting to wonder if he was in over his head. The Prime Minister had grilled him and the Deputy Police Chief, Jane Farrar within an inch of their lives regarding the very immediate problem of draft dodgers, an issue concerning both the Night Police and the Information Ministry.

Accordingly, he and Ms. Farrar had to keep their cool disagreement of how to handle the situation exactly that—cool, unaffected, something they can and would work around. It had ended with them agreeing, under intense pressure, to collaborate on the resolution. 

Worse, he had a summoning to arrange before the day was through.

His mental list of necessary bindings, spells, and charms was only two items long when there was suddenly a firm, large hand on his shoulder.

“John, my boy!”

Makepeace. Joy.

“Ah, Quentin, a pleasure as always. What brings you to Whitehall this morning?”

The playwright waved a dramatically dismissive hand. “Oh, this and that, my boy, this and that. Of course, I was hoping to catch you while running my errands. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

Of course. Makepeace _always _had something to discuss with Nathaniel. If he wasn’t such an in with the Prime Minister, Nathaniel might have considered him annoying. As it was, even in his mind the young minister would only ever refer to the older man as eccentric.

“Can we walk and talk? I have a demon to summon before my meeting with Ms. Farrar about those night patrols.”

“Well, the matter is of a somewhat….discreet nature.”

It was only with great difficulty that Nathaniel refrained from rolling his eyes. Ever playing to the cheap seats, this man.

“I assure you, we will take only the most deserted hallways.” And he set off, gesturing for Makepeace to accompany him down an—as agreed—empty hallway.

When the only sounds to be heard were their own echoing footsteps, the playwright motioned for Nathaniel to lean in close. Unable to suppress a slightly exasperated huff, he did.

“Now John, I was speaking to the PM and he— Well, he brought your name up in considering council members for the apprenticeship program.”

“Really? Aren’t I a bit young for that? I believe there is an age restriction, and seventeen doesn’t clear it.” Also not something that needed to be discussed in private, but Nathaniel wasn’t going to bring that up.

“Yes, there is—or rather, there used to be. After speaking with the best magical psychologists, the Ministry of Employment has made a loophole of sorts. See, the eminent research now suggests that an apprentice raised in a nuclear family environment, with both a master and their spouse, will turn out better adjusted. Thus, if you are married, you are automatically qualified.”

Nathaniel blinked.

“Quentin. It may have escaped your notice that I am not, in fact, married. Nor even engaged,” John continued quickly before Makepeace could form his interjection, “and I do not _want _to be.”

“But John, just think about how much you have to share, to teach! You are a wonderfully gifted magician, brilliant by even the most exacting standards, and there’s this one child at the Ministry—”

“No, Quentin. I am not discussing this any further. Ah, here we are. If you will excuse me, I do have that summoning to get on with. I will see you at the council dinner tomorrow, yes?”

Looking vaguely disappointed, Makepeace nodded to Nathaniel, who was already halfway inside his office door.

“Of course you will. You know I never miss Rupert’s events, especially not when his excellent cooking staff is catering.” 

“Delightful. I’ll see you then.”

Nathaniel made sure to count slowly to five as he closed the door. It wouldn’t do to snap it shut and offend Devereaux's confidant anymore than he already had. But really, he was being ridiculous. 

Where on earth was John Mandrake, Information Minister and chronic workaholic, supposed to find time for a wife? An apprentice might be feasible down the line, when he was older, more settled in his position, less active in the climb for power; but now? That was nonsense, plain and simple.

With an irritated huff, Nathaniel tried to push the matter from his mind. Summoning Bartimaeus was double the chore of any other summoning, what with the bargains he needed to be prepared to make. Regardless, if he was to have a troupe of demons to match Farrar’s, Bartimaeus was the only choice to lead his motley crew. It would have to be done.

Over the noise of his own thoughts and through the thick wood of his office door, Nathaniel didn’t hear the sharp snap of heels walking away down the hall, close enough that the wearer couldn’t have missed the last words of his conversation.

* * *

**Bartimaeus**

Let me preface this by saying that my master, the eminent magician John Mandrake formerly known as Nathaniel, was a fidgety, squirrely human at the best of times. Oh yes, he may put on a cool, collected facade for you humans, but I knew him of old; I knew his tells. Those twitches of his index finger against a champagne flute? The slight purse to his politician’s smile? That smarmy smoothing of his hair?1 All those pointed to an uptight Nathaniel indeed to the skilled observer.

But Nathaniel tonight? Even a blind illiterate could have read the story of his agitation in crisp, neon detail. And no wonder. Since we arrived at the posh event—him in a sleek suit, me always nearby in the form of a dignified black cat—Makepeace had been dragging the boy around and foisting him on every woman who might be even vaguely his age.

Nathaniel being notoriously awful when it comes to women, this was going swimmingly. My master was blotchy red and sickly palid by turns. Once he extricated himself from the latest viper, he sauntered into a corner so his darting, frantic watch for Makepeace’s next strike would be most efficient. He was clearly miserable.

Me, though? Why, I was having a marvelous time!

I was just leaning over to a fellow djinni—a plucky youngster first summoned during Gladstone’s European campaign, practically an infant who was hanging on my every word in their lemur guise—to comment on the night’s proceedings when my master’s dulcet tones shrieked across my delicate feline ears.

“Bartimaeus, we’re leaving. Come along.”

“Aww, but the party’s just getting started, O Master Mine.”

“_Now _, Bartimaeus.”

Touchy. Ah well, back to dull servitude for me. I gave a jaunty farewell flip of my tail to the lemur and followed Nathaniel through the throng. We’d almost cleared the dregs of the crowd when he was accosted by yet another of the vipers. This one, however, seemed not to be influenced by Makepeace’s snake charming, and was fully under her own power.

“Mr. Mandrake,” purred Jane Farrar, quite at odds with her more lupine traits. “Leaving so soon?”

Whoever Nathaniel’s birth parents were, they were clearly natives of the island. His complexion was so pale that the embarrassed flush of his skin almost glowed, even under the bright crystal chandelier. Better still, he knew it. I could see him trying to frantically tamp the color down as he stammered,

“Ah, well yes, Ms. Farrar. It’s been quite a long day, what with this and the council meeting and the summonings. I don’t wish to be rude, but I do have some reports that need writing, so—”

He cut off mid-ramble as the woman stepped closer. I did a quick scan through the planes. When they first tangled, she’d caught the boy in a powerful glamour for one so young, so I was now under strict orders to keep an eye out for these tactics moving forward. Nothing there, of course. She was too clever now by far, and didn’t need tricks like that. Her dangerous allure, obviously calculated to an exacting degree, needed no magic to supplement it.2

I sat myself down, wrapping my tail elegantly around my paws, ready for the show— but unfortunately, it seemed there would be none.

Before the lovely Ms. Farrar could capitalize on the opening she’d made, Nathaniel gathered his wits, cleared his throat, and continued,

“Sorry, but I must be getting on home. I’ll see you tomorrow to discuss our next move with the draft?”

“Of course, John.” If she was irritated, she did a good job hiding it. “Until tomorrow, then.”

She gave one last slow, sultry smile and slid off towards the main party once again.

Polite spirit that I am, I waited until we’d been dropped at the house by the boy’s stone-faced driver before drawling,

“_So_, keeping things strictly business with the pretty police deputy, then? Or is she just too much of a woman for you?”3

I’d have loved to take said pretty deputy’s form to drive the point home, but without her birth name I wouldn't have managed more than an approximation. Instead, I perched on his banister in my well-rehearsed form of Kitty Jones, adjusted to match Nathaniel in age and to make sure she was still taller by an inch. The effect was good enough.

Face flushed dark red, Nathaniel practically threw his coat at the entryway rack and stomped past me towards his study.

“As I iterated more times than I can count to Quentin this evening, I have no interest in marriage, engagements, or women in general! I am far too busy as it is. Now, off with you to join the patrols, I’ll summon you in the morning.”

He glanced at me from the doorway.

“And for Heaven's sake, have a different guise when I do!”

And he slammed the door.

_Being on Earth, _I reflected while spiraling through the night on crow’s wings, _is the worst thing that can happen to a spirit. But I’ll be shriveled if baiting Nathaniel isn’t one of the more enjoyable parts of this hellscape._

* * *

**Jane**

It was Jane’s habit to spend at least an hour each night contemplating her place in the world over a glass of fine wine; a task that unfortunately kept her mind on irritating men more than she’d like, but such was her lot. Tonight’s choice was a dry red, refreshing after the sickeningly sweet champagne at Devereaux's revel, and her focus sat on her consistent political rival: John Mandrake.

Or rather, she focused on the mess that was currently tangled around the man. He was now the most imminent threat to her in the council. The other ministers had their attentions overseas, preparing for a massive strike at the American rebels, and they relied on her skills on the home front too much to rock the balance.

Mandrake, though. He was officially tasked with holding down the fort here at home same as her, as the new Minister of Information, and he was not willing to cede near as much power as she’d like. His dislike of her Greybacks and his towering ambition were forever getting in the way. Not to mention, he had the most ridiculous ideas of how to keep order! 

There was a time and place for propaganda, for leveraging of popularity, but many other times a swift crack of force would do twice as well. That principle seemed to elude Mandrake. Every other play out of his book was appealing to the people’s sense of nobility, and most of the rest springboarded off the Prime Minister’s precedent of using spectacle to awe the population into submission.

Truly, there were days when Jane couldn’t rightly tell if Mandrake was soft, or just that much of a suck-up to Devereaux's delusions.

None of that was news, though. She’d known all this about Mandrake since they’d first crossed paths. No, what she considered now was his hot-and-cold alliance with the obnoxious playwright, Makepeace. Already a favorite with the PM, Mandrake had done well to cultivate Makepeace’s favor. Were the man not the most irritating person to walk the earth, Jane might have attempted the same. He was also sharper than most people gave him credit for, and she wasn’t about to tempt that web without proper consideration.

Lately, it seemed Mandrake might be starting to share the sentiment. That conversation she’d caught the tail of smacked of Makepeace trying to force the other man into a move. A strange, unprecedented move that was throwing Mandrake completely off balance.

She grinned into her crystal wine glass. An off-balance Mandrake? Oh, she could work with that.

* * *

1 Mercifully shorter and better kept, these days. Shortly after the Golem Incident, the slippery playwright Makepeace pulled my fashion-challenged master to his side and gave a few pointed suggestions about his appearance. Irritating, the man may be, but he has helped my master’s career in more ways than one.

2 Cleopatra had a similar draw, and she exercised it to stunning results. It remains to be seen if Imperial Britain will hold up better against it than the Roman Empire.

3 I used this term _very_ loosely and mostly to rile him up. For all her playacting, Jane Farrar was about as much a woman as my weedy, spotty faced master was a man—that is to say, barely at all. Why these children were given any modicum of power is anyone’s guess.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the games begin!

**Private Correspondence  
Carrier - Imp #578  
Sender - Mr. Harold Button  
Recipient - Mr. Quentin Makepeace**

_Quentin, _

_Thank you again for directing me to Mr. Hopkins’s compilation of summoning anecdotes. There are at least two treatises in the list that I have yet to read. Please extend my earnest congratulations to him, as well as give him my card, which I’ve enclosed. I think we might have much to learn from each other. _

_In regards to the offer you asked me to extend to dear Lizzie, I’m afraid she is not interested. While she does enjoy her work as my assistant, she is not one for magical society. This might account for why we get on so well. _

_I will say there’s a young lady working as a clerk at the London Library, Diana Lawrence I believe is her name. She’s a sweet girl who’s expressed a keen interest in moving into magical secretarial work. She has also mentioned enjoying an evening out to the theatre on more than one occasion. You might consider her for this opportunity. _

_All the best,  
H. Button _

* * *

**Nathaniel**

_How did I get roped into this? _Nathaniel bemoaned internally. Not that it was a serious question; he knew exactly how this had happened.

After more than a week of dodging Makepeace’s entreaties to accompany him and “a charming young lady” to the theatre, to keep “this dear girl” company at Devereaux's lavish dinner parties, or to “fill in for him” at a lunch function that some woman or other was bound to be at—Nathaniel had caved. 

It had been under duress; Makepeace made it clear that if Nathaniel declined this request, the Prime Minister would hear the playwright’s displeasure. With his position as Information Minister still insecure, Nathaniel could ill afford disparagement from Devereaux's closest confidant. So, here he was, rehearsing one of Makepeace’s ridiculous mini-plays that was to be _performed in front of members of the government. _How absolutely mortifying.

Worse, he was the only senior magician present, though he was also one of the youngest. His fellow cast members were either theatre colleagues of Makepeace’s or magicians of minor rank still scrabbling at the edges of power such as Carol Fitzwilliam, who’d been stuck in judicial courts her entire career.

There was even a commoner or two there, for Heaven’s sake. Yes, they were select commoners who lived “in the know” about magic, but _still. _

One such commoner was the girl Nathaniel was cast opposite and on first introduction, it was clear _she _was the reason he’d been brought. Diane was lovely—gentle and booksmart, with a soft smile framed by shoulder-length waves of chestnut hair. Unassuming, cautious, quiet, knowledgeable, and with no political ambitions to speak of, she was everything a senior minister ought to have in a spouse. 

Nathaniel wanted desperately to hold it against her, but it soon became clear that she was as much a pawn in this as he was. Makepeace had cast them as side characters in his proclaimed “municipal comedy”. Not too bad, until they’d been told with much enthusiasm that their roles were to illustrate the harmonious ending of the main plot by getting married in the final scene.

Both Nathaniel and Diane bore this announcement with stoic mortification. According to a gleeful Bartimaeus’s recount, they had both blushed furiously, but only Diane had managed to not look like a lumpy beetroot. (By the end of this account, Nathaniel was too riled up even to dismiss the djinni; he just stalked out of the flat and back to Whitehall. He had enough work to be getting on with, anyway.)

Absolutely embarrassing situation notwithstanding, neither of them could reasonably back out now. And really, Nathaniel thought, it wasn’t like spending time running lines with Diane was much of a chore. For instance, just the other day:

“Isn’t that your servant helping with the set construction? The one that looks like an Egyptian boy?”

Nathaniel looked up from his script pamphlet, distracted. “What? Yes, that’s him. Why?”

“Well,” Diane was obviously trying to hide a grin behind her own script, “He just seems to be building himself into a corner, is all.”

And so he was. Nathaniel eyed Bartimaeus dispassionately, then shrugged. “He built the walls of Uruk, Carnak, and Prague. I’m sure he can handle a few plaster sets with minimal issue.”

They both held their serious expressions for another second before breaking out into stifled gales of laughter. Which was another thing. Nathaniel hadn’t properly laughed about anything in...a long time. Nor had he had anyone even remotely like a friend in his life. 

Well. Once upon a time, Bartimaeus might have been one. Not anymore. 

Regardless. For all that he’d been strongarmed into it, Nathaniel resented the theatre sham less than it probably deserved. It took his mind off of the stress of his position, building worse and worse by the day, and it gave him a solid excuse to avoid thinking about Jane Farrar.

Jane was no fool. She knew exactly what every man in Whitehall thought about her and was not afraid to use it. Nathaniel knew that, and generally he prided himself on being the object of her attention more often than the rest of his colleagues. Something had changed, though. 

Where before, he had always been the one to initiate any _interaction _of that sort—not that he ever stayed in control of it—Jane was now actively pursuing him and he didn’t quite know how to deal with it. Especially given that being hunted by the Deputy Chief of Police was not somewhere _anyone _wanted to be. Not even in this context. 

The conversations they had now were a more complicated dance. Similar to his every interaction with Bartimaeus, Nathaniel had to watch his words, avoid promising things to his predatory colleague that he could not back. Frankly, talking to Bartimaeus was easier. At least the demon wasn’t trying to seduce him with every word.

Blaming Makepeace for his dodging of her many veiled invitations was something he could do with impunity, since the playwright was not an enemy anyone wanted, and for that Nathaniel was grateful. Embarrassing as it was—and he’d never admit this aloud—he was much happier practicing the most ridiculous piece of theatre ever contrived at Makepeace’s townhouse than anywhere else he could otherwise be.

* * *

**Bartimaeus**

A week after I was summoned, following a nasty almost-incident involving Nathaniel, Diane, and a clumsy imp carrying an anvil, of all the ridiculous things, my master added a secondary protective clause into my bonds. I was to protect any people in his immediate vicinity, as well as the magician himself.

While I did appreciate the extra ammo this provided for giving the boy all kinds of hell for his fake engagement, it also proved to be a fair amount more work. Why? Because something—or _someone _—clearly had it out for the commoner girl Diane.

The near-miss with miscellaneous blacksmithing equipment was only the beginning. As a commoner, the human girl did not have lenses, and so was completely oblivious to the myriad dangers I rescued her from. Not twenty-four hours after the first incident, I had to incinerate a cloud of poisonous mites that bounced right off Nathaniel’s wards and targeted her.

Three days later, I nonchalantly plucked a pestilence-laced coffee from her grasp and switched it with Nathaniel’s. His sensor webs pinged the weak spell immediately and he flagged a servant to order another with a light comment on asking for no cream in his.

That prompted a charge from the boy to place some basic wards around his new friend. Unsurprisingly, she began coming to Makepeace’s little rehearsals with stories of closely-avoided accidents soon after.

“_This _is why ministers don’t associate with commoners,” my master groaned in frustration. Another of his djinn slaves, Cormocodran, had just left with his report about an imp he’d swallowed after catching it skulking around the London Library near to closing for the third night in a row.

Nathaniel was positively frazzled. Policy drafts mixed with scribbled-on meeting minutes and script pages cluttered his normally immaculate desk. I was Ptolemy currently, perched on his desk with bare feet kicking idly as he continued to rant.

“She’s powerless to protect herself and I’m stretched so thin I barely have the resources to fend off these ridiculous ploys, let alone track down who’s responsible. They’ve got to be some jealous smalltimer, with the attempts being so paltry. Trying to make me look bad. Probably trying for favors with Farrar.”

I eyed him sidelong.

“You’re sure about that, Nat? All this fuss is keeping you away from your precious ministerial duties. Plenty of people bigger than small time stand to benefit from that.”

He snorted derisively in the face of my wisdom. The bloody cheek! I ask you.

“No one on the council would be so haphazard. None of the hits, if you can even call them that, have worked, have they? No, it’s one of the juniors, I’m sure of it.”

His loss, I supposed. Whoever this was wasn’t out to kill the kid, so it fell strictly outside my jurisdiction. Ever a stickler for rules, I decided to leave well enough alone. Besides, days of bodyguarding and nights out on patrol were draining and I needed my energy for a more worthy cause.

Ptolemy hopped from the desk and Diane’s slipper flats hit the floor. Stepping around the desk corner, I slunk into Nathaniel’s space.

“Care to run through our lines, Mr. Mandrake?” I crooned in an out-of-character husk, better suited to the Deputy Police Chief than sweet secretary Diane.1 “What with the performance tomorrow…”

Leaned close as I was, I could see through Diane’s eyes the exact moment Nathaniel remembered his upcoming humiliation in front of his peers. His neck went tense and his skin got all clammy—I saw the sweaty sheen rise on his face. Gross. You humans really are disgusting, I don’t mind saying.

We were nearly nose-to-grimy-nose when he met my-Diane’s half-lidded gaze with a dead-pan stare.

“Bartimaeus. That guise. We’ve talked about this. Find another, or I will have you search for that rosemary tin at the bottom of the Atlantic yourself, then make you watch as I cast the Indefinite Confinement.”

“Promises, promises.” I whispered back before melting into Ptolemy’s form once more.

Dully, the boy waived a dismissal and sat back.

“Off with you, then. I’ll summon you in the morning.” 

And what a morning it had the potential to be. I was rather looking forward to the inevitable mayhem it would surely dissolve into.

* * *

**Jane**

Through Jane’s study, a sharp, rhythmic tapping could be heard as her shoe made repeated contact with the wood inside her pentacle. _John Mandrake, _she thought in irritation, _is a more competent opponent than I realized. _

Though obviously nearing the end of his rope, Mandrake was holding his department together better than Jane had expected. His magical ability, always powerful for his age, had finally matured into a skill with demons that she begrudgingly respected. Worst of all, he was proving unaffected by her arsenal’s main weapon: sex.

That last problem was the main one. Slightly younger and much more naive than her, Mandrake had always been easy to manipulate with her carefully cultivated appeal; it had basically been a given. Now, though, there was an obstacle—a soft-spoken, conventionally pretty, _common stock _obstacle. 

As a rule, Jane did not interact with commoners outside of her duties with the Night Police. They were insignificant, beneath her notice, and fraternization outside of the magical elite left too much room for scandal. In the case of Diane Lawrence, though, she deemed it necessary to bend that rule.

Mandrake was watching—or rather set his demon to watching—after her first attempt at scaring the girl off. That was the main goal. Ever conscious of how her position could be affected, Jane had no wish to actually harm the commoner at first. Just get her out of the way and out of Mandrake’s circle. So she was careful, making her attacks weak, clumsy, unthinkably childish for a member of the Prime Minister’s inner circle. For all that Mandrake watched, he showed not a hint of suspicion.

However, he also managed to foil every single one of her plans. He’d _also _continued to dodge out of every actual sophisticated political trap she’d tried to lure him into. Furthermore, the man had refused every single invitation to accompany her back to her flat, _and _glossed over her suggestions that they retire to his townhouse. Jane Farrar was not used to being rejected, and she was quite over it.

The pretty commoner girl, she decided, would have to go. If her disappearance happened to ruin Mandrake’s little song-and-dance number he was putting on with the insufferable playwright, all the better. Let Devereaux take out his disappointment on the Information Ministry, she would watch from her chair at the council table. 

She would also use her newly-available time to do a little more investigation into that shady theatre man. Past his obvious relationship with the Prime Minister, there was something lurking underneath, something involving Mandrake as well. After the Information Minister was taken down a few pegs, that mystery would be Jane’s to solve at her leisure.

Now though? Jane had a kidnapping to arrange. Her Greybacks, for all their ferocity, lacked the subtlety for this sort of job, and Mandrake knew of all her current demons. So, a new demon it would have to be. Before her, the large pentacle began to glow. 

* * *

1 Nathaniel’d been hearing that tone a lot lately, to hear him tell it. And more than once I’d arrived back from errands more suited to an imp only to find them thick as thieves—Farrar with the seduction cranked up to an 11, Nathaniel struggling under the onslaught. Heaven only knows why she persisted, but there you go.

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bum bum ba-dum, bum BUM ba-dum!

**Limited Printing Playbill**

**Makepeace Productions proudly presents to their Richmond audience:  
**“**Courtly Manners”  
**_**A municipal comedy for those government officials looking to make light of office drudgery.  
**_**Written by: Quentin Makepeace**

_Starring: _

_Aaron Forge as Constable Michael  
Sean Kelly as Sailor Seamus  
And_ _Carol Fitzwilliam as Judge Lorie_

_Along with, in order of appearance: _

_Kris Slater  
John Mandrake  
Anton Bull  
Diane Lawrence  
Rebecca Piper  
Jeptha Henry  
And_ _Natasha Stacks_

* * *

**Nathaniel**

The morning had a bad beginning and Nathaniel could foresee it only getting worse. When he’d arrived at Richmond at the very early appointed time, he’d found it was just Makepeace, the Prime Minister, and the hall staff who had arrived. The rest of their motley crew had yet to show.

Skipping ahead an hour, most of the cast had arrived but half of them—the half from the theatre troupe—were trying to soldier through massive hangovers, while the rest were consumed in jitters. It was also around that time that the head of Devereaux's staff sidled up to Makepeace to tell him that their event had been moved to a different room. Security reasons, apparently.

With a great blustering to-do, Makepeace shepherded the zoo through the building to their new venue and began to direct setup. Bartimaeus was conscripted for this and Nathaniel left to his own devices.

Diane was not there.

Halfway through the stage setup, it was discovered that some of the plaster walls had cracked and were barely stable. All the magicians scrambled to think of a magical fix-it, which they did eventually. Crisis averted, the set was erected.

Still, Diane was nowhere to be found. 

“Not to worry, my boy, not to worry,” Makepeace soothed when Nathaniel mentioned his concerns. “Opening night is always this brand of chaos. Intoxicating, isn’t it? Put your mind at ease, the lady will be here in plenty of time.”

She was not.

An hour before call and still no sign of her, Nathaniel beckoned Bartimaeus over.

“Diane is still not here. Trace your warding spells and find her, bring her back. Return here before the performance starts. We need this ridiculous charade to go smoothly. Or at least have it not be my fault when it flops.”

The djinni gave him a dry look.

“Of course, the show must go on. Nothing to do with your worry for the girl herself?”

It was only with great effort that Nathaniel did not actually tear his hair out.

“_Not _the time, Bartimaeus. You have your charge, so go!”

* * *

**Bartimaeus**

I went. Only trouble was, I couldn’t trace my wards on the girl. They were my magic, a piece of my own essence. The only way I could lose track of them is if they’d been removed or destroyed. I certainly hadn’t removed them, which could only spell more trouble.

Being a spirit of slighty-more-than-moderate power, my spells leave a very, very faint trail on the higher planes for approximately twenty-four hours. Quick as I could on my swiftest wings, I followed what I could find of the human’s past movements.

What with all the city’s magical emissions, it was mostly skillful guesswork off the faintest of clues until I arrived at an unassuming flat two blocks from her job at the library. Less unassuming was the bloom of magic just before the door.

Someone—a very powerful, magical someone—had been here and casting spells recently. By the disbursement of the residue, I had my bet on early morning. Under the mess of echoes, I fancied I could sense a thread of my own warding spell, too. That answered that question, then.

Better still, the spirit who’d most likely abducted my quarry was careless. Or possibly just inept. Though they’d obviously tried to hide it, their magic was practically a beacon trail through the city.

Time was running on. I changed into a peregrine falcon for maximum speed—I could see that path all the way from the moon—and was mid ramp-up of my rocket launch skyward when I crashed beak-first into a human. And not just any human.

Kitty Jones stumbled back with a yelp of surprise. My beak hadn’t cut her, but she’d have a falcon-shaped bruise for a couple days, definitely.

I was so surprised, I forgot to play dumb.

“Kitty? What are you doing here?”

She stared, dumbfounded for a long moment. Then she got out,

“Bartimaeus? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me. It seems I can’t go a single summoning without meeting you. Crazy coincidence, though.” I squinted my beady falcon eyes at her. “What _are _you doing here?”

“Looking for a friend. She was supposed to meet me for coffee before some event or other. But she never showed.”

No. No, there was no way. The world was not actually that small.1

“Not Diane Lawrence?”

“Yes, that’s her. How did you know?”

“Because she’s late for that event and might be in danger. She got mixed up with magicians and you know how that goes. I’m supposed to find her and bring her back.”

Kitty’s aura flared with outrage. I forgot how hers did that, always a fun sight. She took a step towards my tiny falcon form.

“You mean kidnap her? She’s my friend, I won’t let you!”

I hopped a few steps back. I had a plan, a good plan. The only trick was getting her to listen.

“No, not kidnapping! That’s what’s currently happening to her, as far as I can tell. She needs rescuing, but I need to get back to Richmond or Mandrake will have my hide. I can tell you exactly where she is, if you’ll just give me a moment. Then you can do the rescuing, make sure it’s done properly.”

She took her own sweet time deciding, one hand on her chin while she contemplated me.

“Any day now, Ms. Jones.”

And there was that familiar eye roll. This kid was a trip, I’d missed her.

“Alright then, tell me where she is.”

With a salute of my wingtip, I took off like a shot. Up and up and up I sped until I was high enough to see over all the buildings. Bird’s eye—falcon’s eye—view achieved, I located the blazing magical trail once more and— Yes, that was the building. Faster than I’d climbed, I plummeted back to Kitty.

“Well?”

“Big grey concrete monstrosity, five blocks north, six west. Just over the bridge, right by the red metal tower.”

Kitty tilted her head a moment, then nodded decisively.

“Abandoned police station. I know where it is. I’ll get her out, but how do we make sure the magicians don’t come back looking for her?”

For the briefest instant, I flickered into Diane’s form before reverting to my falcon guise. I chose to interpret the slightly horrified look on her face as immense shock and awe at my skill.

“Leave that to me, just don’t bring her back here. Now I really need to go. _Do not _engage any of the spirits you find. Your resilience will not help you against the thing that took your friend. Understand?”

“Of course, just like you understand you never saw me here.”

Girl and bird had a momentary eye-lock that confirmed we were on the exact same page. That done, I took off again in a dizzying spiral. I could hear her trainers pounding away on the pavement as I went. Good seeing her again, even better that my master would never know. 

The falcon obviously was not carrying a watch, but my internal clock told me I would just make it back just in time for Diane’s first scene. Perfect.

* * *

**Nathaniel**

Nathaniel could have collapsed in relief when he saw Diane appear just off stage not two lines before she was supposed to come in. At _last. _Bartimaeus had certainly taken his time finding her. Although, the djinni didn’t seem to be around. Maybe he’d fluffed it and gone straight past her coming in on his way out. Didn’t matter.

Per his stage directions, Nathaniel extended a hand to her after his line in an awkward attempt at genteel manners. Right on cue, she stepped into the scene and approached. They gave their short lines, filled out generic forms on real paperwork provided as props, then stepped offstage together.

As soon as they were off, Nathaniel rounded on her. It was entirely inappropriate for any magician to show worry over a commoner, especially one of his rank, so he channeled his bubbling relief in to something more like snapping irritation.

“Where on _earth _have you been?” He hissed. They were only a little removed from the makeshift stage, and the audience was less than ten feet away. He had to work to keep his voice low enough.

“You were due to be here hours ago.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Mandrake. It was unavoidable. There were delays on the, erm, the tube. And then it took a while to catch a cab out to here.”

Diane held his gaze earnestly. Nathaniel had to look away before his traitorous complexion started to flush.

“Alright, well. Next time just ring me, I’ll send my driver to come get you.”

She blinked.

“Next time? Did Mr. Makepeace mention another play he wants to do?”

And there was the blush. He valiantly fought it down, but Diane had a smile quirking about her mouth. She must have seen.

“Ah. Er— That is—”

Behind them, a throat was cleared rather pointedly. Makepeace gestured emphatically at the master script as he stared the two of them down. Nathaniel quickly turned his attention back to the stage.

They were one dramatic speech away from the final scene—the scene where he and Diane were supposed to carry most of their props for their “marriage” on stage themselves. Hastily, Nathaniel scooped up two quill pens and and an inkpot and shoved them in Diane’s direction. Then he went for the papers.

Since their venue was so “intimate”, Makepeace was having them fill out unofficial copies of the actual forms. For realism, he’d said.

The marriage license prop in his hand certainly seemed real, but for all the intuition buzzing in the back of his skull, Nathaniel knew little about marriage documents and just placed it at the top of their pile.

Onstage, one of the players started an off-key rendition of the Bridal March on a kazoo. Their cue, that was.

Just as they’d rehearsed, Nathaniel and Diane stumbled, giggling and giddy, onto the stage. They deposited the props before their Judge Lorie and, in perfect unison, begged,

“Marry us, Judge?”

Carol Fitzwilliam smiled indulgently at the young couple. Even out of character, she would agree to this ceremony in a heartbeat. They were sweet together, as the past weeks had shown, and the serious Information Minister could use a companion.

“Of course. Do you have any vows?”

“No,” replied Diane in her affected character voice. “Only our faith in this ink as it dries.”

Nathaniel nodded his agreement and unscrewed the inkpot. “After all, if you’re as good as your word, your word on paper is good enough!”

Off to Nathaniel’s left, a couple audience members snickered to hear him say such a ridiculous thing. One of them sounded suspiciously like Jane Farrar. He ignored it.

“Well, alright then. You’ll need to sign here and here. Do you each accept the other as legally wedded spouse, witnessed in this judicial presence?”

“I do.”

“I do.”

By all that was magic, this was finally almost over. Nathaniel was shaking, his signature jittery as he drew the quill over paper. They hadn’t talked about this last bit, but there _were _certain traditions for a wedding. Nathaniel wondered, should he— 

“Then I now pronounce you legally wed!”

And before Nathaniel could do anything, Diane leaned up and kissed him square on the mouth.

* * *

**Bartimaeus**

Eugh. But worth it for the look that was about to cross his face

* * *

**Nathaniel**

Nathaniel was so shocked that he forgot to close his eyes. This made it doubly disconcerting when he saw, from over his acting partner’s shoulder, _Diane _sneak into their performance hall. Disoriented, he jerked back, then had to swallow a grimace of revulsion when Bartimaeus’s eyes flashed golden in Diane’s face.

There was applause from the audience, and applause from offstage. Nathaniel didn’t register it. He was too busy devising more and more convoluted punishments for this recreant de— 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Makepeace’s voice boomed. “Will you please extend your congratulations and good wishes to the newly-minted Mr. and Mrs. Mandrake! Legally wed here this fine afternoon by our good Judge Fitzwilliam, they take their first steps into a long and happy life together. And what better way to do so, then by taking a curtain call?”

…

_What? _

* * *

**Jane**

“What?!”

* * *

**Bartimaeus**

Well. That happened. Oh, right, got to be proper shocked for Diane too. Though, she’s right across the room looking more shocked than I do, so why—

Wait. 

_What? _

* * *

1 While technically true, there is some higher mathematics involved that suggests coincidence is more than the ordinary human dullard might think. My mind was running all those calculations during that brief pause in our conversation. Thought you’d be interested to know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What, you thought we were done?

_ **The Times** _ ** : A Wedding Announcement**

_Editors of _The Times _are pleased to announce the wedding of Mr. John Mandrake, Information Minister, to Miss Diane Lawrence of East London. They were married in a small ceremony held at the Prime Minister’s Richmond estate, officiated by Judge Fitzwilliam of the Judicial Courts, and witnessed by no less than five council members and the Prime Minister himself. _

_Ever conscious of his duty to our country and the burden of our safety that he carries every day, Mandrake stated that he and his wife do not plan on honeymooning in the immediate future. In his own words: _

_“With so many of our brave young men away at war, I would be remiss in my duties as a minister were I to sweep the both of us away on a grand vacation.” _

_Well spoken, and congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Mandrake from us at _The Times _, and all of London as well! _

* * *

**Nathaniel**

Following Makepeace’s shocking announcement, Nathaniel proceeded to have one of the strangest evenings of his life. Apparently this was his own wedding reception, where he wandered about accepting surprised congratulations and trying very hard not to show he was twice as shocked as any of the others. The occasional, subtle cackling of the djinni at his arm was not helping matters. 

Clearly having the time of his life, Bartimaeus-as-Diane leaned in sweetly to whisper,

“And to think, I was feeling left out of all the theatrics. Pretty convincing act, this. Don't you think?”  
  
Nathaniel favored him with an indulgent smile and tucked their locked arms more firmly together. Years of time in the public eye made sure his saccharine expression didn’t slip an inch as he hissed back,

“I have never wanted to invoke the Shriveling Fire more than I do right now.”

“Well _that’s _not a very nice thing to say to your wife.”

Someone struck up music and the “happy couple” were forcibly shunted into a cleared area for dancing. Their syrup-coated banter didn’t miss a beat as Nathaniel spun Bartimaeus in an elegant turn.

“Don’t be daft. If I’ve married anyone—and mind you I’m not convinced I have—it’s the real Diane. Not some foul, pestilential menace wearing her guise.”

“You reckon?” Bartimaeus returned, coming up gracefully from a low dip. “Because this foul, pestilential menace signed the document in her own hand. Isn’t that— Hang on. Where did you learn how to dance?”

“Seminar on European Etiquette last year. Anyway, a demon's testimony is not permissible in a court of law, therefore the document isn’t binding. We’re not married.”

The song came to an end and Nathaniel was nose-to-nose with Bartimaeus once again. The djinni smirked and leaned a bit closer.

“Oh, so you’re going to admit to your precious Prime Minister that you snogged a _demon _in front of him and half his council, are you?”

* * *

**Bartimaeus**

Nathaniel’s breath was so humanly pestilential and foul when he cursed. I smiled sweetly in response and we continued on our merry tour of the room once more. Nathaniel schmoozed like the irritating politician he was and I played the giggling arm piece like the pro I am. He’d pay for the demon comment later.

Later turned out to be much later than either of us expected. We’d been pulled back into the fray no less than six times by that damned irritating playwright before even being able to leave the room. Then, we spent another half hour dodging the Deputy Police Chief and her bloodhound skills before we could find the _real _Diane and scarper off.

Of course, we were being driven by Nathaniel’s stoic-faced driver1, so I wasn’t able to say anything of import. I was back in Ptolemy’s form, watching the two humans awkwardly trade glances. We’d told Diane the very basics of the mixup before getting in the car and she’d relayed in turn that she’d been kidnapped by a demon and held prisoner until her unlikely rescue.

I stared at the girl meaningfully as soon as she started on the rescue. She obviously wouldn’t know Kitty as _Kitty, _but a too detailed description of her would have Nathaniel on high alert and we didn’t need that. Thankfully, all was well. Diane was perfunctory in her descriptions and Nathaniel didn’t press as we sprinted for the car park and escape.

The ride back into London was gloriously tense and I spent the whole time with my mouth clamped tight shut, coming up with hundreds of ways to make these two humans mundanely miserable the second we were away from prying ears.

When we arrived at the boy’s townhouse at last, Nathaniel gallantly helped Diane out one side while I tumbled gratefully out the other, keen to be away from the steel and petrol. Of course, as soon as we were in the door, the boy was snipping orders:

“Get the cook to start dinner, Bartimaeus.”

“Make sure a fire is built in the sitting room, Bartimaeus.”

“Get the guest room prepared for Diane, Bartim— No, I don’t want to hear whatever vulgar insinuation you’re about to spit, just do it.”

Like I was some common house-foliot! I flipped him a rude gesture as I trudged up the stairs in Ptolemy’s form. I probably would have done more, but I do dislike sullying Ptolemy’s mouth with nasty language. Also, the commoner girl was clearly going into shock and I felt a bit bad. If anyone understands getting unwillingly dragged into magicians’ drama, it’s a millennia-old djinni, right?

The doorbell rang as I came up on the landing and I heard Nathaniel settle Diane in the—warm and well lit, let it be known—sitting room before stomping back to the front door. Terribly house trained, really. Not sure where I went wrong.

* * *

**Nathaniel**

Yes, _technically _it was just mid-evening, but considering the day’s events, who on Earth would be calling at such an hour? Nathaniel did try his best not to stomp to the door—he had a guest who was going through rather a lot already after all, and most of it was his fault.

The man he met at the door was in a crisp government uniform, but not one of the Night Police. The uniformed man smiled politely and handed Nathaniel a neatly sealed folder with the crest of the Ministry of Employment.

“Mr. Mandrake,” the man said cheerfully, “I hear congratulations are in order, to you and the new missus.”

Nathaniel’s smile was wan in response. “Thank you very much. How can I help you this evening?”

The man nodded and gave a sharp tap of his heels together. “Of course, sir. I’m also to give you congratulations on your apprenticeship application’s approval. Per the Prime Minister’s orders, the whole process was expedited and you are fully approved for care of the little blighter.”

Before Nathaniel could do more than blink, the still-unintroduced man tapped the folder sharply then stepped to the side. With firm hands, he pushed a child forward to take his place on the stoop.

“I’m to leave him in your care. Mr. Makepeace said all the other details had been arranged, so just sign here and I’ll be off.”

Nathaniel had signed so many things that day—one or more of them must have been this infernal apprenticeship application—what was one more? Uncaring, he scrawled a messy “John Mandrake” across the form and handed the clipboard back. 

The man gave a small bow, clicked his heels once again, and walked right off, leaving Nathaniel with— He actually had a chance to look at the child, and his mouth dropped open in confused frustration.

“Bartimaeus! What kind of joke is this? I just sent you upstairs to—”

A yell from inside and up the stairs cut him off.

“I am doing _exactly _as you ordered, Mandrake! Another snark and you’ll see just how little I fear rosemary and silver!”

Nathaniel did not respond immediately. He was too busy staring at the child in front of him, not older than six years old, but nearly an exact—if younger—twin of the guise his most irritating slave habitually wore. The child looked up at him with dark, intelligent eyes. Those eyes were far too wise for a child that small.

Very evenly, Nathaniel called back up, “Bartimaeus. Forget what you’re doing and come down to the foyer. Now.” 

He took the child’s hand and pulled him inside.

Just before the door shut, he heard running footsteps pounding on flagstones outside it. In a knee-jerk reaction, he kicked the door closed before the next interruption could occur. One thing at a time and this one didn’t need witnesses.

Unfortunately, he forgot to lock it, so in the span of the next thirty seconds, three things happened:

First, Diane came around the corner from the sitting room. She was disheveled but looked quite recovered from her earlier shocks, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear and looking for all the world like she had a million questions.

These all died in her throat as Second, Bartimaeus came sulking down the stairs looking his usual, fourteen-year-old Egyptian self. As most of the djinni’s movements tended to be, even his plodding steps were graceful—right up until he saw their new guest and tripped over the step fifth from the bottom.

This clatter and bang almost masked the sound of the Third happening, wherein Nathaniel’s front door was slammed open and all four occupants of the foyer turned to find a very agitated and out-of-breath Kitty Jones on the lintel.

Then everything was very, very quiet for a long, long moment.

Still quiet, Nathaniel ushered Kitty—a very much not-dead Kitty—into his home and shut the door with a soft _click. _Carefully, he drew the bolt and turned back to face his guests. They were all quiet for another breath before each of them did the worst thing one could ever do in the presence of magician or demon. They yelled— 

“Kitty?!”

“Rekhyt!”

_“Ptolemy?” _

“Lizzy!”

“Bartimaeus?”

—all at the same time.

* * *

1 Who I noticed Nathaniel triple-checked with silver every time we saw him. Good man.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of explanation, in monologue format because let's face it, Makepeace doesn't get as much villainous monologue time as he deserves.

**Research Journals and Memoirs of Quentin Makepeace, Vol. 6**

_ All those years back, we’d known that opening a rift in the Other Place so large could have unleashed some...strange happenings upon the world. The surviving accounts of ancient and grand summonings such as the one we attempted all described great wonders and horrors in the time following the events. _

_ For years after the sinking of Atlantis, for instance, it was reported that ghosts walked the Mediterranean waves and no child was born that could not see eldritch horrors at their first breath. Of course, this also coincided with the peak of the Egyptian dynastic reign of the time, so resilience in local commoners would have been high indeed. _

_ With such vague reports, we had little idea of what to expect following Ramuthra’s summoning. Certainly Simon didn’t expect to fail in his control of the beast. No one expected young Mandrake to emerge as the hero of that day. But besides those two concrete misfires, nothing seemed amiss. _

_ Certainly, Hopkins and I found luck on our side rather often. And events did tend to string together, if not fortuitously, very interesting indeed. Our work with the Resistance fools turned up Honorious. The Staff of Gladstone was at large in the world once again. A Golem was created in the middle of modern London. _

_ I still chalk these up to us planning well and being solidly aware of our situation. Something that I could not explain, however, cropped up about five years after our first play. I found a small, raggedy child in the London Library—barely older than five, dark as the leather books he was reading. Yes, you heard me right dear reader. The little boy was avidly reading in the stacks of Ancient Greek texts, looking as comfortable as you please. _

_ He was also very familiar. I knew I’d seen this boy’s face trailing around after the young John Mandrake, worn as a mask by some smirking djinni or other. _

_ Never in my life had I so regretted that my plan required me to stay safely within government-mandated guidelines. I would have dearly loved to simply show up with an apprentice out of nowhere, but I knew Rupert wouldn’t have it. So afraid of deposition, he required all of his magicians to follow the proper channels in training the youngsters. _

_ My best option was also my most risky: Mandrake. The boy was not quite a puppet, nor did I want him to be, but I trusted he’d keep me in his books. His ambition wouldn’t allow him otherwise. I needed to get the boy to take this coincidental savant as an apprentice, to keep the both of them under my thumb for when the time was right. _

_ While risky, this plan required very little effort. Fund some magical psychology studies, pull a few strings, find a pretty commoner, write a short play, and it was done. It is done. As of this writing, John Mandrake has married one Diane Lawrence and is now legal guardian of his own apprentice—a boy who told me, with eyes as old as the stars, that his name was Ptolemy. _

_ I shall attend the council meeting tomorrow in secret to watch the pretty little Deputy Police Chief try and unravel Mandrake, I think. She will not succeed. Mandrake is soft in a way I hadn’t known until this little experiment. He now has a helpless commoner and apprentice to protect, as well as a fugitive vigilante to hide; Farrar will never get through him now. _

_ The altruistic ones always hold out the longest, but fall the hardest. Hopefully I can train him out of it before the time comes. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooooo buddy. Guys, this was a long craziness in coming. I think I am physically incapable of writing cracky-y oneshots for this fandom. So, a bit plot-heavy for a silly prompt it was.
> 
> Obviously, this is left open-ended and could possibly have a sequel. Not sure if I've got that sequel in me, but we'll see!
> 
> Thanks for reading and make sure to check out the rest of the event! You can bet I'll be spending the next couple days reading all the fun stuff everyone's come out with.


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